


Are You Saying My Wife Screwing Leslie Dean Is A Tree?

by WickedHeadache



Category: Runaways (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29776089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedHeadache/pseuds/WickedHeadache
Summary: Leslie Dean is nothing like Tina expected.
Relationships: Leslie Dean/Tina Minoru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Are You Saying My Wife Screwing Leslie Dean Is A Tree?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RenLuthor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenLuthor/gifts).



> I promised angry sex... not sure if I delivered. This is my poor attempt at smut that ended having way too many emotions.
> 
> Hope you like it though.

It starts with a slap, followed by a second. Leslie seems to think the adequate response to this is gripping the front of her dress and pulling her into a searing kiss. That is, by far, the oddest reaction to being slapped she has ever seen. Leslie's hands begin to seize and push, and Tina just stands there and takes it. Well, as much as one can while kissing back, as if responding to an attack, encouraged by the determination to _win_. She is still quite shocked, however, by this and what follows.

Tina is not used to this.

She isn’t used to the struggle, the hands grasping harshly at her skin and her back hitting the walls. She isn’t used to bruising, to teeth sinking into her neck and nails digging and marking and holding onto her with just about the same strength she’s being pushed away. She isn’t used to the tingling of pain and the sting of shame being followed by an even more powerful wave of pleasure.

Tina knows gentleness, quiet reverence and submission. She knows slow kisses and tender eyes looking for reassurance. She knows careful touches, hands skimming over her skin in a not-quite-teasing way but not certain either. She knows mechanical, almost repetitive movements, and the weight of man on top of her. She knows the love and trust of a husband, and then she doesn’t, but intimacy is never delivered to her differently.

Leslie is nothing like this.

For a while, Tina couldn’t find it within herself to sexualize her. Looking at her and her _insane_ cult leader persona, she had assumed her to possess that particular brand of repression that made her either sex-repulsed or into some weird kinky shit -- and judging how bland her choice of a husband was, she’d figured Leslie was the first.

She’d been mistaken.

Leslie is fire and war melted into a person. She’s little condescending smirks and arrogance, so stupidly passionate that it takes Tina’s breath away. Tina has never been with a woman before, but Leslie touches her like she’s been with plenty. She touches her unafraid, with the certainty of somebody that _knows_ that Tina isn’t made of glass and that even if she were, she wouldn’t give a damn.

Leslie plays with her, undressing her and twisting her nipples as she licks the length of Tina’s throat. She chuckles with delightment when she elicits a restrained moan. It infuriates Tina, because she’s not like this. She’s not a person so easily swayed by a pretty face and skilled fingers, or responsive to the point of embarrassing noises and dreadful vulnerability.

Tina is not weak.

She flips their positions, and Leslie yelps as her back hits the mattress. The shock is short-lived. When she meets Tina’s gaze, there’s an interested little gleam in her eyes. “Oh,” she breathes out, appraising Tina’s expression like she’s been pleasantly proven wrong. “Go on.”

Tina sneaks a hand down Leslie’s underwear and fondles her clit roughly with two fingers. The gasp Leslie releases is not displeased at all. She tries to grab onto her, but Tina takes both wrists with her free hand and holds them over her head. She doesn’t have a particularly strong grasp, but Leslie doesn’t seem interested in fighting her. “I don’t think so,” she tells her.

That’s much better. Leslie doesn’t get to make her lose control. She doesn’t get to dismantle her perfectly built mask of indifference. Because while emotion is something that comes to her naturally during intimate moments, passion is a different beast that she hasn’t quite learned to tame and use to her advantage. Leslie seems to have mastered it, however. She seems to be skilled at seduction and wears it like a second skin, almost as if she has been trained for it. 

The worst part is that she knows exactly how to use it to get under her skin. And under her clothes.

The thought makes her pinch Leslie’s clit before rolling it between her fingers. Leslie breathes deeply. She’s finally losing her composure. Leslie’s cheeks and neck are flushed prettily, and there is a hint of a smile curling her lips. She slips her fingers inside of her and doesn’t hesitate as she begins to thrust. Leslie twists and squirms, moaning softly. The smirks and the sautering are gone, replaced by the woman underneath her that has the sudden capacity of saying, "Please." She rewards her with a harsh closed-mouth kiss.

"I like the sound of that," she hums smugly and begins kissing downwards.

Leslie lets out a breathless chuckle. "Do you now?"

Tina's teeth latch to one of her nipples, and Leslie loses all words. A fun reaction, but it could be better. She curls her fingers ever-so-slightly and watches with delightment as Leslie begins to squirm. She pulls out then, eliciting a whine from Leslie.

"Tina..." Leslie's voice is laced with warning.

She ignores it. "Beg," she says, casually enough for the word to sound like a request. It isn't.

Leslie doesn't mind at all, it seems. She inhales sharply and presses harder into Tina's touch as she complies. "Tina, please."

"Please, what?"

"Please, make me come," she adds. Her voice is strained and hoarse.

She's so complacent, so eager. Tina would've never imagined. She thinks of the powerful Leslie Dean coming undone under her hands and can't help but chuckle. She slides her fingers inside until she is knuckle-deep. By the sob Leslie releases, she can tell it won't be hard to take her over the edge.

When it's over and Leslie's eyes roll to the back of her head, Tina realizes what she’s done. She lets go of Leslie’s hands, thankful that the woman’s eyes aren’t open to see the horror in her face.

Leslie has managed to unbalance her to the point of chaos. Again.

She scrambles out of bed and turns around to face the mirror. In the reflection, she spots Leslie stretched across the mattress, looking so much like the cat that swallowed the canary with that lazy grin in her face. Her gaze falls back to herself and her lustful gaze and messy hair. As it seems, she has completely lost it.

“You look good enough to eat,” Leslie drawls, voice low and sinful. It probably shouldn’t arouse her as much as it does.

“This was a mistake,” she states as she turns around. She falls back into an air of nonchalance. She’s good at that.

Leslie huffs, for some unexplainable reason looking frustrated, and drags herself out of bed. “Of course it was,” she says dryly, letting her eyes roam down Tina’s body one more time before she scoffs to herself and shakes her head. She starts to pick up her clothes. “Just another disappointment,” she mumbles to herself.

When she leaves the room, Tina is left standing, confused.


End file.
